they all laughed at me
rows of idiots mocking
the boy genius

one last kiss from the blarney before it's all gone. again...

this life unfinished
stares back at me demanding
a restoration

mytosis

division

the gift of labor
displayed now through my hands to
build a protection

home

it's always funny to me how you can go through life looking at something and never really seeing it. i never took typing class. maybe if i had, i would have noticed the home keys. they're on every keyboard. small raised dots or lines on set keys, usually in the center. on the one i'm using right now they're the "F" and "J". In typing class you are taught to find the home keys with your two index fingers without looking. from there you learn how to reach out to every other key blindly. if you get lost you can always return home.
as i discovered this i also found home keys on other devices. phone keypads and remote controls. and all this time i've been limping around the landscape like a three legged dog without a home.

city falls behind

i chop down resistance with
the edge of my hand

gem

i walked by this little box sitting on our table the other day and did a double take. although fairly innocuous, it grabbed my attention. just a simple box of paper clips. why should it warrant a second look? i picked it up and studied it. it looked very old, as if it could have been produced 70 years ago. a plain cardboard box with single color printing. even the green ink looked ancient. plain. as if war or depression required the maker to reduce costs to make a very simple package.
i guess i was surprised by this fact, since it seems almost everything we buy these days, even the most benign product has been carefully researched and re-packaged to capture our attention. to scream out as we pass other stationery products, and stand out puffing its chest, announcing "i am here!". so much so that we train our brains to filter out the noise of these attention getting practices. and in so doing forget that there was once a simpler time when people just went to buy paper clips. they didn't need to be coerced or prodded to get them. they were a commodity, like milk.
and it seems to me the maker of these paper clips has recognized this fact and seen no reason to redress the presentation. no revised madison avenue slogan. just a reminder that the population grows by millions each day and that these are still made in the u.s.a. no promotions or special offers. commodity. need. and that is what caught my attention. the possibility of an uninterrupted cycle of design, manufacture and marketplace. a rare gem these days.

rub against lonely
to feel the taste of despair
then allow embrace

fire hydrant 005

spotted this colorful little fire plug outside a high school in sacramento over the weekend. a closer look shows it to be an old greenburg, perhaps the la75 model. greenberg and sons were based in san francisco and made many fine old hydrants including an earlier version of the 75 you can check it out here. it hails from the days when horses still pulled the steam powered fire wagons up and down sf city streets and features a post at the top for tying off the team of horses. it may have even seen action in the 1906 earthquake and fire.
i like this little guy above because he has been recognized and made to stand out no doubt by enthusiastic students of fire hydrant study.

you display control
of broken machinery
illusion control

seeing the sun today through a rain soaked lens. welcome spring!

borders intersect
our lives all are connected
trapped inside these cells

faces part 006

i am sew worried...

but i thought i was your biggest fan...

no problem. free refills from my giant mouth...

{:^) happy friday face roundup (^:}

lucky

5th grade st. patrick's day started off normally. i put on my green t-shirt and went to school. unlike st. valentines day, we didn't trade anything at school except the obligatory pinch if you came to school unadorned in the green, which no self respecting kid ever did.
but after first recess that day as we all returned to our seats the kids were all laughing and pointing at poor ricky velasquez sitting across the classroom clutching a handful of grass and panting like a frightened animal. apparently nobody at ricky's house had clued him the night before like my mom had, taking care to make sure my green t-shirt had been laid out. and as he showed up to school that morning his heart must have sunk, and then grown cold with fear as all of the kids began to realize one by one that he was open game. the hunt was on. fortunately for ricky he was small and pretty fast. and he used the entire recess field like a chess board, darting and dodging and then even after picking up the blades of grass, screaming.
but as he sat now at his desk still breathing hard, our wise teacher strode across the floor saying not a word even while chuckles could still be heard. she bent down and revealed a construction paper shamrock she had just cut out. she pinned it to ricky's shirt and put her hand out to take the blades of grass. and by so doing redeemed him. st. patrick returned to ireland to spread the good news of the gospel which i never saw evidenced better than that day in 5th grade.

care, ok?

now i don't know where it's been, and i'm willing to forget the past. i'm just glad it's finally back.

the philosopher
is a dust rag who wipes
forgotten alleys

capacity

they say that the human brain can only hold a finite amount of information. the longer we live the fuller it gets. as the brain becomes fuller it begins to dispose of old information, holding on to the essential pieces. memories of endless uneventful days may slip away, while some not remembered for years suddenly gain new significance. each moment of experience is filled with so many details, sensations and sensory input that to hold it all would be maddening.
so how do we filter out the moments that matter from those less important? what makes a memory? clearly we all carry around inside us very strong positive and negative memories. they are the events that we learn from. they are what make each of us who we are. birthdays, Christmas, first day of school. riding bicycle, friends, first kiss. driving first car, travel, and wedding day. births, and laughing, crying and dying. and at the center of all of this recorded experience there is something else. like a ticking clock beating within our hearts there is a sense of something beyond. eternity ticks inside and begs questions be answered about who we are and where we’ve come from and where are we ultimately headed?
we carry the seed of human history and moan under the sun. our work is never ending and we wonder what it all is for. these memories and experiences like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle are constantly being examined and tried for fit and discarded when not. and the dance of all humanity sways to the rhythm of a slow beating drum that clicks away inside our hearts.

we slurp great cups of
coffee between large bites of
hot cakes and sausage

downtown

yesterday i went to meet my oldest friend downtown for dinner. doing the downtown is always tricky in a car, so i rode down thinking it's always easier to find a place to park on 2 wheels. in the city (san francisco i mean) when i lived there, you could always find a place to park your bike. those spots too small even for mini-coopers and smart cars are no problem when you're two and a half feet wide. in some places you can even get away with parking on the sidewalk. and as i rode by the capitol i spotted these fantastic parking places directly in front. 10 hours parking from 8am to 6pm reads the sign, and no meters! amazing. so even as our state government continues to be embattled in a budget nightmare without any end in sight, it's nice to see them doing the right thing every once in a while. but sshhh, don't tell anybody. someone might see another tax opportunity.

we are like the grass
that grows up licked by the dew
our life will not last

mmm-bot

the robots are assembling now. waiting to receive instruction. waiting for direction. programming (tick) assemble. wait. stop. run program. (click) error. error. wait. run. stop. assemble. (click) error.

words illuminate
our feeble minds that we see
to open our hearts

a cautionary tale

on a recent trip to our local library i ducked into the newly built and ongoing "friends of the library" book sale room. at our old branch there was just a small metal bookcase which held donated items that were then sold to help with new purchases. i bought a great old 70's book with reprints from the old sears and roebuck catalogs there once.


the new room is beautiful. dark wood shelves with a display wall and organized by genre. while browsing i spotted this little red book sitting innocently away from another stack. i love tiny books like this so i picked it up, curious by the cover what it might be. poetry? a nature guide? turned out it was a very tiny children's book by famed author maurice sendak called "pierre a cautionary tale" about a little boy who says "i don't care" to whatever question anyone asks him.


one day a lion comes in to his house and asks if pierre would mind if he ate him to which he of course replies "i don't care". so the lion eats him, much to the distress of his parents. but fear not, for all works out in the end as the lion coughs him up and the boy pierre learns a very valuable lesson indeed. for as the author robert pirsig noted in his seminole work "zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance" quality cannot begin without caring. and certainly i have found it to be true. in jobs i didn't want to care about, relationships and tasks of general distress. you can't build anything of quality with hopes that it will last without first caring. so as you set out in your own world and confront these very difficult situations think of pierre and ask yourself that one question.

the soul is fed by

the spirit that teaches us
the soul creator

marathon

i came across this news story the other day out of osaka, japan. robotics companies developed these knee-high humanoid type robots to go the distance of a scaled marathon, a 26 mile course at their tiny scaled down size. i don't know why, but this idea intrigued me.
as i watched the warm-ups some of these little guys had been programmed to stretch before the race making more of an attempt to humanize themselves. when they fell over they had to be able to right themselves. as they walked/ran around the little track again and again following a colored marker with their light sensor i thought about the real marathoners. the humans i mean.
i imagined what it must be like at mile 18 when your body is feasting on itself demanding and crying out that you stop the madness, and the will locked up with emotion required to press on. when the little robots ran out of juice their creators were allowed to simply replace their batteries and they were off again. i thought about the endless train of thought that must go on for people as they battle the elements, navigate the other runners and all the while stay in tune with their bodies. what were these robots thinking about as they pressed on?
and then i thought too about ibm's watson on the recent jeopardy tournament and how it destroyed the field. this combination of intelligence and stamina that we are building into our little automatons is reaching new levels and what it means for the future who can say. but the more these creations take on the characteristics of their creators, the less human i feel. and yet, somehow i find myself emoting through them.

coming together
today to meet life head on
the mission certain

the last morning of the last day off before heading back to the work week. the last cup of coffee emptied now. and the morning nearly emptied too. the expense of regret lingering in the air like an unpaid bill. the future still unwritten. this moment. balanced between then and what will be. what will be?

joined together by
years of growth we strengthen
this bond through seasons

if you leave

25 years ago today i walked out of my house in a pair of khaki shorts and a college sweatshirt to take this girl out for the first time. little knowing then my life would never be the same again. i picked her up in my mom's volvo and we drove to the festival cinemas to see "pretty in pink" starring molly ringwald and directed by the late john hughes. the picture, typical of the time is a twist on romeo and juliet. boy meets girl, they fall in love but are doomed from the beginning. they live in two separate worlds and get pressure from all sides to give up their love. unlike shakespeare, in the end it does not end tragically. at least the end we see.
well 25 years later this girl and i have not ended tragically either. sure, we've had our moments along the way. in fact it was a rocky 10 year road that eventually dumped us in front of a church almost 15 years ago to begin the real marathon. but on that night back in 86' none of this was in my mind. when i showed up at her door she answered wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a sweatshirt too. so we walked out into the world looking like the all-american couple. (or maybe brother and sister) after the movie we ended up at the denny's between fairmont and 150th. we shared a plate of fries and milkshakes and talked the way teenagers do. we were both shy but we loved to laugh. and the conversation was easy and led us to laughter.
more than half my life has now been wrapped up with this woman. i still know next to nothing, but i have come to understand that real love is so much more than the giddy romantic excitement of a john hughes movie. and although everything looks so much different today than it did then (and so much better) i just didn't want to forget today that it all started so many years ago between a girl and a boy.